


Coffee Between Friends

by Anonymous



Category: Christian Bible, Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Blasphemy, Coffee Shops, Digital Art, anonymous fics - Freeform, art credited in the end notes!, comments appreciated. even the mean ones., earnest conversations about religion, if hell was real id be going there, inspired by a discord conversation in a DA SI server, tagging this with fandom: bible is the weirdest feeling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:21:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27544510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Two friends get together for coffee.
Relationships: im not honoring this with a relationship tag
Comments: 7
Kudos: 11
Collections: Anonymous, Anonymous Fics, Fanfic Anonymous





	Coffee Between Friends

**Author's Note:**

> im.
> 
> i wrote this.

In a coffee house-- might be a chain, or some local joint, who knows-- two people sit in a booth to chat.

"You know, it's not a _ sin _ to drink coffee," the woman teases the man, then says with a wry twist to her words, "I'll even pay."

"Thank you for offering. I'm not a fan of the taste, is all."

"Andrea," a barista calls from the front, "your black coffee's ready."

The woman stands, makes her way to the front. Smiles and thanks the barista who blushes.

She sits back down. Taking the lid from her coffee off, she blows on it to cool it down. "They always get the name wrong. Mind if I partake?"

"Feel free. Earthly pleasures aren't inherently sinful. I can enjoy tea because it tastes nice and makes me happy to drink it. It only becomes gluttony in excess. It's interesting, the clear divide your husband's children have between sin and virtue."

She takes a sip, then places the cup on the table. Her hands wrap around it. "You know, it's funny. My husband and your dad don't really see eye-to-eye on a lot of things, even though they're almost the same person. But you're also almost him. So, in the strangest way," she laughs, "I'm talking to my step husband-son."

He grins at her. "Does that make you my step mother-wife?"

Giggling, the woman gently shoves his arm.

Companionable silence falls between the pair. Idle chatter sounds around them.

"How did you do it?" the woman finally breaks the silence. "It happened to me against my will. I can't even imagine what it was like to suffer on purpose."

"It wasn't about me. It was about them," the man gestures around the room, "because they deserve it."

"What they've made us into doesn't make you... I don't know, confused? How did what we said and taught get so twisted?"

"It's the nature of Man. Their imperfections make them human. Still," he says, "I don't quite know how they took what I said about that camel and the needle so out of context."

"It did seem pretty straightforward."

"Most things are, at their core. Even parables have a central message. I didn't  _ literally _ curse that fig tree."

"What about those bones in the valley?"

"That was a parable, too. There's not exactly a point beyond metaphor to reanimating bones into people again. Their souls were long gone to His side."

The woman takes another sip. “Spirits are my husband’s first children, but they don’t have souls in the way humans and non-humans do. It’s strange how people took that to mean ‘empty’. Just because they don’t have  _ flesh  _ doesn’t make them not  _ people.” _

“Do you consider spirits to be souls without form?”

“I do.” She reaches over to a nearby empty table to grab a packet of sugar. Shakes it out, tears it open and dumps it in her coffee, replacing the lid. “It’s something we disagree on from time to time. Spirits are capable of change; they do it all the time! It’s just a little more literal in their case.

“Everything that exists is loved. Spirits exist. It follows that spirits are loved. They’re just hard to understand in a mortal way. I love my husband’s first children and I love His second. So does He. He just wanted us to have siblings, you know? I get on His case just a little about not paying attention to either of them.”

The man smiles. “I like the open dialogue you have with Him. That’s how He intended it.”

“I thought your whole...” she says, wiggling her fingers at him, “...thing was faith?”

“Faith is important, yes, but He won’t love you any less for not having it. Unquestioning faith encourages stagnation. Have you ever heard of the phrase ‘wrestling with G-d’?”

“Can’t say I have.”

“Well,” he starts, “it’s about a man once named Jacob. He wrestled with an angel until it would grant him a blessing. Even when the angel said  _ “let me go, for it is daybreak,” _ Jacob still wrestled with the angel, saying,  _ “I will not let you go unless you bless me” _ . The angel asked Jacob his name, and when Jacob replied with it, the angel renamed Jacob ‘Israel’, because he had struggled with G-d and with humans and had overcome.”

“I like that. The struggle is as important as the blessing, if not more. That bleeds into metaphor, too, yeah? Fighting for faith? Looking for answers?”    


“Absolutely.”

“Home would do well with a dose of that,” the woman laughs.

“Perhaps,” the man replies. “Ultimately it’s up to them. They do what they do the way they do it. I don’t judge the way people connect to Him. He loves everyone equally. Everyone has a different relationship to Him.”

“Amen to that.”

The man snorts.

“Jessie,” the barista calls out. “Earl Grey’s ready for you.”

The man laughs a little, raising an eyebrow at the woman. She puts her hands up as if to say ‘sorry not sorry’. 

“Excuse me,” he says to the woman, standing, “one moment.”

He retrieves the tea in its ceramic mug from the barista, smiling. The barista-- the same one the woman accepted her drink from-- double takes at him and stammers a little. The woman hears “I’m sorry, but do I know you from somewhere?” to which the man replies, “most likely. Thank you for the tea. Have a blessed day.”

He sits back down, gently placing the mug on the table. His chair wobbles a little; there’s napkins stacked underneath one leg to prevent it from leaning too far over. “Thank you.”

She waves his thanks off. “It’s nothing. Would you like me to cool it down a little?”

“Yes, that’d be nice. Thanks again.”

One finger traces around the base of the mug, gentle swirls of ice following the path and almost instantly melting. The billowing steam reduces to a softer curl.

“‘Magic exists to serve Man, and never to rule over him’,” the man recites. “How do you interpret that?”

“It means magic shouldn’t rule over the person  _ wielding _ it, mostly. Self control is the heart of it. It’s like you said about excess. In short, 'don't let it go to your head'."

"It's a beautiful thing, magic."

"I agree! It's a tragedy Mankind finds it so unapproachable. The Dalish come closest to accepting it as natural.  _ I'm _ certainly glad to have it. Another thing they forgot, that. Oh," she interrupts herself, eyes shifting to the speakers on the wall. They're just now starting to play  _ 'For Bobbie'.  _ "I love this song!"

“Yes, it  _ is _ very nice. Soothing.” He takes a sip of his tea. “I have to ask-- why do they sing the Chant? Is there any specific significance to singing it instead of speaking it plainly? The Torah is sung because historically, Jews could only get away with prayer if it was hidden in song.”

“Because of me,” she says around the lip of her cup. After taking a gulp, she smacks her lips. “I sang to Him, that’s why He turned His gaze back to the second children. Though I never thought myself too talented a singer.”

“Perhaps it was the passion, not the skill,” he offers.

“Fair point.” 

Companionable silence falls. They both people-watch; one person walking out the door balances several cups on a tray, a woman at the counter asks for the manager. The drinks in their hands slowly get emptier.

"We've finished what we were meant to do. Our part's done. What next?" asks the woman. "Not  _ next  _ as in  _ forever _ , I mean. Maybe a better way to phrase is 'what happens  _ now'?" _

"Now? We watch everyone live," replies the man, "and see them try to be happy doing it. They grow. They meet people. Sometimes they have children."

"I just… what about the things we taught? What about us?"

He smiles. "What  _ about _ us?"

Finishing his tea, he returns it to the little plate. "Our words are out there. The wonder of choice is that people can choose to follow them or  _ not  _ follow them. Free will."

"Man's greatest gift."

"Just about."

She finishes off her drink. A small gout of flame incinerates the cup, then the ashes dissipate into the air, gone like a dream. Nobody notices. "How does brunch next time sound? There's a place I know at home with the best baklava."

"I'd like that."

They both stand. The man picks up his mug and hands it to a busboy with a gentle smile. "Thank you for taking this," he says, kindly. The busboy nods in bewilderment. 

"Oh, and you might want to reinforce the leg on that chair over there," he goes on. "I'm a carpenter, see, and saw a weakness in the leg by the seat. It won't last much longer."

The busboy nods again. "Uh, thanks, man. I'll tell the manager."

"Have a blessed day."

"You… too?"

The man and woman walk to the front door. The chime at the frame rings as the man opens it, holding it open for the woman. She giggles into her hand.

"Same time in two weeks?" the woman asks, slipping her arm through the crook of his elbow.

"I'll clear out my busy schedule," jokes the man. The woman snorts and slaps at his arm.

The barista and the busboy stare after the retreating pair of friends. "Did that guy look familiar to you?" the barista asks, taking off her cap and scratching her head.

The busboy scratches his stubble. "Not really? Just looked like a middle eastern dude. The lady, though, I coulda sworn I've seen her from somewhere. What were their names? Andrea and Jessie? Huh. Weird. Anyway, can you take my shift tomorrow? Sister's in town, her kids need a babysitter and I'm the only one she can afford."

"Fine."

So, the world turns onwards. 

And, two weeks later, good friends meet up again for brunch and coffee.

**Author's Note:**

> this AMAZING art is by zoe TheOneKrafter !


End file.
